


Eye of Providence

by wehdile



Series: novus ordo seclorum [1]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Post-Canon, Triangle Bill Cipher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 04:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13159161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wehdile/pseuds/wehdile
Summary: In the end, Bill Cipher ceases to be a dream demon and returns to what he was before his ill fated Time Wish: a misplaced Flatlander. All with the (underappreciated) help of a certain inter-dimensional salamander.△





	Eye of Providence

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Flat Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6062122) by [PengyChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PengyChan/pseuds/PengyChan). 



> This is more meant to be a fun 'what if' one-shot and a bit of a breather between my more two serious stories that touches upon Bill and Stanford's relationship in the aftermath of it all. In the future, I may expand on this, I may not. Enjoy!
> 
> [Written in a fit of hypomania so I may come back to this later with edits]

**_Cipher_** , Axolotl spoke and Bill turned away from the desolate darkness of his own fractured psyche to listen. Filling the horizon, its head rested between two fat front hands, watching with indifference while a sluggish Bill Cipher rose to his feet. Within its frills galaxies swirled, free of rhyme or reason, glimpses of other dimensions under its all reaching protection. Beady little eyes regarded him with neither malice or admiration, wholly ambivalent to how he had suffered and made others suffer in turn.

”Frills.” Arms folded across his front, Bill stood as tall and proud as he could in front of the massive amphibian. Only the decaying mindscape around them betrayed how fragile he truly was, normally vibrant colors replaced with shades of grey and a vast, swirling chasm of black and gold and red bisecting the sky. Even manifesting was a challenge, grey form flickering periodically beneath the salamander’s sonorous voice.

**_It is time for you to return, a different time, a different form._ **

Time for...? _Oh._ The memory of erasure at the hands of Stanley Pines flashed across Bill's mind, and for a horrible moment he's back in that room. Experiencing surging oblivion, the memory gun taking first his powers and then his past, his name until all Bill could do was reach out for the furious man before him. And then... Then he was gone and might have stayed gone had he not invoked Axolotl's in sheer panic.

Bill blinked back to the present, lowering his arms to the side. "About time! Do you have any idea of how long I've been...asleep?!" If he could even call wandering through a maze of chained doors, broken hallways and scorched walls something restful like sleep. "Too long is what. So, let's get down business... What do I have to do?"

He had called for absolution and now that the time had come to pay up, Bill found he was afraid. Afraid of what horrors awaited him in a new body that he would have no context for, trapped until he again rose above his station for some greater good. Was he even capable of such a feat after...after all he'd done? Mind, clouded by doubt, he turned away from Frills to survey what was left of the once mighty mind of Bill Cipher. Wonders if it's even worth trying when he had the choice of returning to...

In the distance Bill sensed the pull of ~~Liam's~~ door, a pull that urged him to forget, to come back and pretend the world was a fair, just place. That no one would return home to find their loved ones vanished. His eye shut tight, Bill turned away from the warmth of better days to meet Frill's infuriatingly serene gaze. He can't hide anything Axolotl, not here, and the amphibian's look of knowing pity is a brief one.

Axolotl raised its head, Bill following its upward gaze to the expanding rift in the sky. **_Absolution lies among the Pines, wrought by nightmares from on high. Recall your brother’s face and learn from your mistakes._**

“That doesn't sound so– WHAT!?” Fury wells up in Bill, small hands becoming fist that strike the rubbery skin with all the strength of a thumbtack. “That's NOT what I agreed to! Don’t you dare–” It’s too late, Frills rising with a quickness he hadn’t anticipated. Knocked flat on his ass, Bill can only watch as Axolotl sits up, frills and hands reaching to the rift. In a surge of hues it expanded to split the world in two, then three, then four until infinitesimal cracks became canyons. Bill's scream is wordless, panicked, hands a frantic search for purchase as the ground, as his mind, crumbled.

“ **YOU CHEATING, LYING** –”

Suddenly, there isn't any ground left to grab for and, cursing Axolotl's name, Bill Cipher tumbled into the dark silence of unconsciousness.

△

“Aren’t you supposed to be yellow?” are the first words out of Mabel’s mouth when she sees Bill, for the first time since Weirdmageddon when he and Sixer come in sight of the miserable shack the Pines family calls home. Bill’s eye narrows dangerously, any intimidation it may have had obscured by the fact that he’s holding Ford’s hand. It simply added insult to injury that his top angle only just reached Sixer’s waist and, like Shooting Star oh so helpfully pointed out, he’s reverted from a bright yellow to a dull, boring grey.

“Sheesh. Nice to see you too, Shooting Star.” Bill tips his hat at a bewildered Dipper who stood besides his twin, fingers having found a white knuckle grip on her sweater sleeve. “Pinetree. Still as sweaty as ever.” They both seem changed, acne blemishing Pinetree’s face and Shooting Star’s teeth free of metal, but Bill isn't quite sure how to tell age aside from the way they look stretched out, gangly in comparison to when he last saw them. They aren’t quite adults yet but aren't kids anymore.

Dipper, flushed with a scowl, let go of Mabel to take a few shaky steps forward as if that will intimidate the great Bill Cipher. It brought a smile to Bill’s eye when Pinetree points an accusatory finger at Sixer, voice warbling between several octaves. “What is _he_ doing here? He destroyed Gravity Falls and now he’s just, free? Just like that?” Pinetree grips at his hair, pulling hard enough that Bill hoped he’dl tear out a handful. “And you bring him here, _here_? Great Uncle Ford, have you lost it?!”

“Yeah! He tricked me into giving him your glowy orb that started Weirdmageddon,” Shooting Star added as she comes to stand besides Dipper, easing her twin’s hands away from his hair with soft, placating words.

“I’m with the kids on this one,” Stanley chimed in. “You seriously aren’t thinking about bringing him in the Mystery Shack?” Fez adjusted his glasses to get a better look at Bill and his grin of recognition was immediate. "Didn't I blast you into oblivion with my right hook?" A tremor ran through Bill's planes at the memory, fuzzy as it is, but said nothing. He merely gripped Ford's hand a little tighter and didn't know why.

“Calm down, calm down everyone.” Hand raised like he could ever dispel the fear sewn into them by Cipher— _ha!_ — Ford’s voice is level-headed. “I wouldn’t let Bill within 100 feet of myself or any of you if I wasn’t absolutely sure–”

“Hey,” Bill interrupted “I’m not exactly thrilled to be here either.” All Pines present shoot him a simultaneous glare which Bill pointedly ignored, speaking to them as a whole rather than staring down the weak link in their chain. “Trust me, I’d rather be doing an encore of my finest work but decided to be nice and spare your hick town. You’re. Welcome.”

Catching the roll of Ford’s eyes, Stanford continued as if Bill hadn't spoke. ”As I was saying...it’s complicated. But rest assured Bill is no longer a threat." Then Sixer looked at him with a stare that seemed it might just sear a hole straight through his bricks. "Isn't that right, _Bill_?"

“Yeah, sure whatever,” Bill agreed, already bored with this pointless back and forth. Walking back hand in hand hasn’t been Bill's idea but when presented with an alternative means of travel- a very cramped looking cage with electrified bars- he had been more than happy to hold Sixer's hand. Physicality with this body was strange, but not foreign enough that he didn’t harbor the muscle memory of touch.

For instance...the texture of Sixer's calloused palms, hardened by years of dimension hopping and frenzied brawls felt unnatural. Never mind that the human's hand completely engulfed his own. At least there's the satisfaction in the twitch of Sixer’s hand whenever Bill shifts his own, waves of barely contained revulsion pouring off him in waves.

It's the little things in life that count.

As Sixer and Fez began to argue, Bill's attention drifted. It was a mild day outside, forest and sky saturated with vibrant colors that a Bill from Flatland could only have dreamed of. Sunlight that had been diffused by the trees when he first awoke now was blindingly bright on Bill’s squinting eye, and he strained to see the blurred outlines of what he knew to be a yellow sun. Holding hands with his greatest long running con, drained of both color and power, was not how he pictured returning to Gravity Falls. No, there was supposed to be more fire and thunder and a dash of madness to signal his return but instead he'd popped out of the statute right when ole Fordsy had been doing his annual check up on his nemesis.

Bill looked down, blinking the after image of the sun away. Guess he would have to make due with a blue sky.

 _I always wished I could see the colors._

His arms tensed at the sudden memory, a mere snippet of the letter he read eons ago when he was just Bill, just a triangle who didn’t know how the world worked. Didn’t know how cruel the world was. It’s a lifetime that doesn’t feel like his own no matter what his memories say — he stopped being a flatlander long ago for good reason. It was an oppressive dimension that deserved to burn for what it did to _him_ for being _irregular_.

“–Bill!”

Gaze snapping to Ford’s lined brow, Bill realized he’s been squeezing Sixer’s hand tighter and tighter. He forced his grip to relax and fakes a laugh, brushing non-existent dust off his front plane. “Just checking your reflexes. Can't have you getting soft on me with retirement... You are retired, right?”

Exasperation flooded Ford’s face but no answer comes. It hasn't escaped Bill's keen eye that he's older too, hair speckled with grey and even more lines on his face. If he played his cards right he'll have no trouble killing the old men at the right moment. “We’ll finish our discussion later, Stanley,” grumbled Sixer, conversation abruptly over as Bill is dragged inside with the rest of Ford’s miserable family trailing behind.

Catching sight of Question Mark and Red, Bill managed to get a wave and wink in before Ford ushered him past the front counter and down a carpeted hallway that could use a vigorous dusting. As they reach Ford’s room, Bill paid special attention to the cacophony of arguing voices through the walls and mused on who to turn against who. There were just _so_ many choices!

△

In Ford's old bedroom, Sixer finally released Bill's hand after a warning of 'don't touch anything’ and flourishing of some stun gun that he's told could deliver enough voltage to render him unconscious even in the Mindscape.

Regarding the gun with an unimpressed stare, Bill pushed the barrel away with a single finger. “Don't sweat it, Sixer. I'll be on my best behavior.” A lie and they both knew it, unspoken words surging through their locked stare. _I know you’re lying, Bill._ _Than_ do _something about it, Fordsy. I’m wide open._ For once Ford passed up the bait, stun gun placed within a leather holster at is side. Bill will have to content himself watching Ford traipse over to a desk tucked into the far corner, his hunched shoulders and clenched fist betraying how much he wanted to stoop to Bill’s level.

Sixer’s loss!

He'll behave himself for as long as it took to get his real body, the one still petrified in stone, back to the Nightmare Realm.

...Provided it hadn’t collapsed under the strain of forcefully ejecting Bill into this reality.

Hm. He hadn’t thought of that. Bill combed his mind for an answer only to find gaps between what Sixer would label a synapse, massive chasms where unlimited information should pour forth from. It made sense; this physical form could only contain a small fraction of infinite knowledge. Regardless, unmitigated frustration rolls over Bill. To be omniscient was what it meant to be Bill Cipher and to have that taken away was like losing a limb. Fist clenched, he trails after Ford in sullen silence, fully aware his hovering only serves to put Sixer on edge. Bill’s counting on it.

Under Bill’s watchful eye, Sixer unloaded his gear with the same methodical, plodding pace Bill intimately familiar with. Though he can't see quite see the top of the table he can and does pay careful to the way Ford turned his body to try and block Bill’s line of sight. Even in this sorry state, Bill Cipher’s no imbecile. Just watching Ford move about the lab drew to mind all kinds of nefarious plans he could enact if left alone, all contradictory to what Frills wanted him to accomplish.

Screw that two-timing amphibian. He’d rather be blasted into nothingness then have to make up with either pair of Pine twins.

Already bored watching Ford’s write-up of their reunion, Bill wandered away from desk to inspect what other redecorations he'd missed. A buttload, apparently. The bedroom is more of a study, ramshackle bookshelves lining two of the walls, new shelves on the wall weighed down with new additions to Sixer’s weirdness collection. Clear jugs filled with preserved specimens, sand-blasted bones and… seashells of all things. Ordinary, mundane seashells. 

“Going senile already, huh.” Bill ignored the _clunk_ of the stun gun being placed with a heavy hand on the desk in a not so subtle threat.

In retaliation Bill walked to the nearest bookcase and grabbed the first book that caught his eye. “Hm!” He made a show of rifling through the pages with a flourish of rustling paper, book balanced in the crook of his arm. Just as expected it drew Sixer’s attention like wildfire, Bill not looking up even as heavy, hurried footsteps came up behind him.

“Put that down, Bill!” A grab over his top angle is expected, and without so much as a blink Bill, balanced on one foot, pivoted out of reach. “Just doing a bit of light reading. Can’t a triangle brush up on his…” He turned the book over to examine the bold, white lettering on the spine. “...Particle physics without being accused of trying to bring about the end of the world?” Truth be told he only recalled about half of what he’s read though Ford needn't know that.

This time, Ford grabbed for Bill, knocking off his hat in the same moment Bill dove out of the way. Chucking the book at Sixer from his prone position, Bill scrambled upright, gaze settling on the stun gun which sat unattended on the desk. It took an insurmountable effort to not bolt for the weapon, instead turning with a stiff back to face a Ford whose expression is rapidly edging away from horrified realization. Bill simply crossed his arms and waited, the prospect of shocking Sixer so hard he’d be reduced to a gibbering fool pounding at the forefront of his mind. Oh well. It’d be reckless to jump at opportunity on Sixer’s life so early when it would absolutely end in being locked up somewhere he’d never see the sun again.

”...Well,” Ford began, the way he picked his words a dead giveaway on how close he believed disaster had just passed. “If you want to read something, ask first. Some of these books are on delicate subject matters.” Picking up the discarded book, his free hand shooting out to seize Bill’s arm as the triangle barreled past him.

“OH?” Squirming in Sixer’s six fingered grasp, Bill had his sights set on the bookshelf to their immediate right. “C’moooon, Fordsy! It's not like you to keep secrets… Well, not from _me_!” The hand tightened, Bill’s short snicker frayed at the ends with barely concealed pain. “Lemme guess! Summoning rituals, blood pacts, lateral lines– am I good or what?”

“Not even close.” Ford’s scoff coaxed Bill to shift his gaze back to the human, the faraway look on his face not one that Bill had in his ‘expressions humans make when I win’ catalog. “Most are...they're books on the adaptability of human psychology. Mundane topics you would, no doubt, find boring.”

Bill’s interest evaporated on the spot. “Oh.” A look from where he stood confirmed this, titles like _So You've Been Traumatized! Now What?_ and _The Dummy’s Guide Cognitive Behavioral Therapy_ among the majority. They stood there for longer than they should have, Bill’s wiggling to break Ford’s suddenly sweaty grasp. “When did you get so boring, Sixer?”

”I… I've had enough weirdness to last many lifetimes, Bill.” The reply came stiff, Ford refusing to make eye contact and his hold on Bill so tight all five knuckles had gone white. It hurt like hell, Bill biting down on his tongue to hold back a whimper that bubbled just behind his narrowed eye. He'd seen Sixer enraged, despondent, terrified, and many more enthralling human emotions but this… It reminded Bill of a wounded thing trying to hide in plain sight, hysteria barely contained beneath a paper thin surface.

Ford would be piteous if Bill had any ability to pity life forms that were beneath him which Ford, no matter his brilliance, was.

Except… Bill was down in the dirt with him now, wasn't he? He frowned, the realization enough to quiet a needling retort for a moment. But only for a moment. Then Bill cleared his throat, a startled Ford letting go with a grunt that's the nearest thing he'll get to an apology. “And here I was sure great freaks thought alike!” Bill shrugged, keenly aware of how quickly Sixer folded his hands behind his back, out of sight. “My mistake.”

“That _was_ your mistake, Cipher.” Sixer sucked in a breath, trying to calm down, trying to enunciate clearly. “We are _nothing_ alike, you and I.” With a flourish of his tattered cape, Ford turned and stomped his way back to the desk where he practically attacked the journal with the pen, furious scribbles punctuated only by an intermittent hand run through hair.

Silent, Bill settled back onto the couch. It was only a matter of time before Sixer slipped and Bill would be there, poised for ruin.

△


End file.
